


Oh, My Darling, My Sweetheart

by Anonymous



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lesbian Sex, Rule 63, Secret Identity, Sex, handmaiden au, multiple POVs, wlw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-14 14:23:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18054188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Handmaiden wlw AU:Damia seeks to regain control of her country but her group is sorely in need of money. However, her older half-brother Kastor has a potential windfall: he intends to woo and marry a sheltered Veretian woman named Laure who is the sole heiress to a vast fortune.In order to marry the woman and steal her away from her influential uncle, Kastor installs Damia as a lady's maid in Laure's household. But things change and no one is telling the full truth in this plot...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> I don't think I can update often but I hope you all will like this story. I'll post it when I can...
> 
> Also I love the movie The Handmaiden! Please watch it if you like.

**1\. A Small Favor to My Brother**

Damia sat at the rough-hewn table and tried to stay focused on the gold coin in her fingers as the door swung open and the familiar smell of a lavender satchel washed in with the spring scent of rain. She did not look behind her but her renegade mind filled in the gaps.

She knew Jokaste would be shaking out her honey-blonde curls and droplets of water would slide out like tiny diamonds onto the wood floors. She heard the sound of Jokaste hanging her wool cloak on the peg by the door and knew her shapely pale arms would be bare underneath blue lace cap sleeves and there would be that one mole just below her collarbone on her left breast…

The gold coin shot out from Damia’s fingers and clattered to floor underneath the table. “ _ Fuck _ .”

“Damia, let me get that.” Lazar offered, dipping under the table to retrieve it before Damia could think. “Here, love, keep your hands tight on it, eh?” He grinned that good-natured, crooked grin of his and Damia could not help but smile back. “Jokaste, how did the recon go?”

“Very well.” Her voice was low and hypnotic. “I think I’ve found some new members for our cause.”

Damia heard the sound of light kisses and held herself rigid in preparation. Rose petal lips, soft and warm, pressed against her cheek just a moment too long. “Hello Damia.”

“Jokaste.”

She glanced over just a moment too early and happened to glimpse the mole that haunted her, a drop of water sliding down her collarbone. And then she turned and was gone, deeper into the recesses of the house, leaving Damia out of breath. 

When she felt safe looking around again, Lazar caught her eye and smiled in a way that said ‘it can’t be helped’.

Damia wondered if she was that obvious and returned her attentions to the pile of coins to determine which were real and to be given to their Akielon allies and which were passably counterfeit and could be used to pay their dues to the Veretians. It was tedious work but it was all for their cause.  

At least Damia was deferred to and left to her own devices...that was until her half-brother Kastor arrived.

As always, he threw open the door to their home as if he was a guard on a raid or if he had just heard the news of a lifetime. 

Kastor wore Veretian clothes, which supposedly made him look dapper and refined in the eyes of some of the women who passed through their operation, though Damia thought he looked rather too full of himself. He was trying too hard. 

He hung up his fine heavy cloak on the peg with the other thin tattered hoods they had in their possession and beamed out at ‘his’ operation.

Jokaste ran to him, tossing her arms around his neck to kiss him. “Darling!” 

“Hello love.” He kissed her back and slipped a possessive arm around her waist before waltzing over to the center of the room as if he owned the place. As if it was his own coin that paid their rent and put food in their mouths. Damia felt the twist of bitterness in her mouth that always accompanied her brother’s entrance. “I have a lead. One that could give us a windfall in money.”

“How much money?” Lazar, one of their greatest assets who followed money like the most determined of hounds, spun in his chair with interest piqued.

“A massive windfall.” Kastor amended, eyes gleaming. “We’ll need all hands on deck to pull this off though. It requires a...delicate touch.” 

As much as their curiosity ate at them, Kastor would not divulge the plan until their entire group returned from whatever motley jobs and missions they had chosen to undertake that afternoon. Pallas, Lazar’s lover returned first with a fistful of gold and a shirt spattered with blood (it would have to be burned and a new one purchased), followed close at heel by Damia’s closest friend Nikandra. She was oft found working in the taprooms of inns and bars, collecting any information that could be heard on potential Akielon allies or Veretian dissenters. 

Finally was Makedon, who still had contacts in the depths of the old country and was adept at moving items and people into obscurity. Just as everyone else in their group, his workings were clouded in obscurity in case Veretian guards came knocking. 

Mismatched glasses of wine were poured for the group and they waited for Kastor to bestow his wisdom on them.

He might have been an actor for all the feeling he put into his description of their saving grace.

“I have, in the past six months, come into the acquaintance of a man who works as a gardener for a prestigious Veretian family. This family has amassed such a fortune over time that they were once akin to royalty in the ranks of Arles but now the family has dwindled to the point where only one final member has been set to inherit the entirety of the massive family fortune.” 

He placed a small cameo on their rough-hewn table and Damia leaned forward to see a small watercolor painting of a young woman. She seemed to have an elegant, if somber profile.

“Her name is Laure and she is the sole heiress to this fortune, to receive it on her twenty-first birthday. She lives almost entirely shuttered away from society in a country estate owned by her uncle, a painter and art collector. He all but keeps her locked away there. And has since was a young girl so she is an utter innocent.” Damia lost sight of the delicate watercolor as Kastor slapped it facedown onto the table. His smile was wicked. “But! I intend to marry her and use her vast wealth to take back Ios.”

“How much wealth are we talking?” Lazar asked, greed catching in his dark green eyes.

“How in the gods’ name do you plan to woo her?” Jokaste asked sounding a little jealous.

“Why does her uncle keep her locked away?” Damia asked, concern filling her breast.

She could not imagine. 

Sometimes in the dead of winter when Vere was bitterly cold and she was left alone with endless piles of coins and jewelry and other baubles in a pile, Damia wanted to scream and run from the house back down to where the climate and the people were warmer. She could not imagine being trapped in such isolation for years and years. She almost felt pity for this poor girl Laure. 

Kastor whirled to them in turn to answer their questions. “Enough gold and stocks to liberate Ios and still have enough for five more generations to live comfortably. And it is ever increasing with interest.” 

Damia felt her mouth dry out a little.

With that kind of money, they could go home. She could go back to her home and return to the upper echelons of Akielon society. 

Kastor gripped Jokaste by the chin and kissed her indulgently. “She is an innocent, darling. She has never known the touch of a man nor spoken with one at length since her childhood unless her uncle allowed it. I know this because I have spent the past few months ingratiating myself with the uncle of this esteemed woman so as to better understand my quarry. I have heard from many of the people who work there as well as my own observations of the lady that Laure is excessively fond of reading; surely, along with desires of escape, she has read of handsome strangers who woo and spirit away young ladies like herself to a life of charm and adventure. 

I intend to present myself as a preeminent wealthy Akielon lord and painter, fond of giving drawing lessons, to have ample opportunity to woo the girl. And I’ll steal her out from under her uncle’s nose.” He lightly pinched Jokaste’s nose and Damia, as always, was unimpressed with how his brother talked about women. He would need to amend his attitude if he wanted Laure to give him the time of day, much less run away with him.

It  _ did _ help though that Kastor had always been the best of the lot of them when it came to forging art.

When Kastor turned to Damia, Damia braced herself to be talked down to, the way it had always been. She made her gaze hard and unemotional. “As far as why her uncle keeps her far from prying eyes, I have reason to believe that he is the one who intends to marry with her when she comes of age so that he can take control of her vast wealth. Though he is a cultured man I cannot imagine any pretty young woman choosing him over a man closer to her age.”

Damia’s lip curled. How distasteful.

“But Veretian women can keep their own inheritance.” Makedon pointed out. “Even if she marries you there is no guarantee that she will give you one gold coin of her fortune.”

“This is where Lazar comes into play.” Kastor amended. “Veretian women can most certainly sign the inheritance over to their spouse in the instance of a prolonged, degenerative disease, imminent prison sentence, or probable death. I assume her uncle and I have similar ideas on this and if she provides resistance we can forge a will and a doctor’s notice and have her committed for insanity.”

Everyone at the table looked ill at ease with this plan but Damia was sure they were also weighing the happiness of one Veretian girl over regaining their country.

“You might want to have a man on the inside.” Lazar said as he chewed on his thumbnail. “My countrywomen are notoriously crafty and perceptive on the best of days. Her flirtations could just be her way of toying with you.”

“You make an excellent point!” Kastor smiled in the way that made Damia think she was going to have direct involvement in this part of the plan. “Laure’s lady’s maid has recently been...let go for impropriety with a guest as well as abandoning her duties.” The fucker clearly had something to do with the poor girl losing her position and the only joy Damia took from this revelation was that Jokaste narrowed her eyes in cool fury. “She’ll be needing a replacement; a quiet, obedient young woman who is fine with remaining at the lady’s side throughout most of the day.”

“And you would prefer one who is loyal to our cause.” Nikandra said slowly, also understanding. 

“One to all but push her into my arms,” Kastor agreed, “to sing my praises and turn a blind eye as I weave gentle flirtations. I promised a recommendation for an exemplary young maid and I intend to deliver.”

“You wish for me to go?” Jokaste asked, clearly enamored at the idea of playing at being a proper lady’s maid (and likely stealing whatever fine baubles she could get her hands on). Kastor smiled at her but there was denial in his eyes.

Damia knew then that Kastor would choose her over Nikandra.

Her half-brother would be overjoyed to have her has a spy but also as a convenient scapegoat if their plan was discovered. And upon his return to Akielos, it would be one less share to split amongst their group. 

In fact, as the true blood heir, Damia had a better claim than Kastor to their father’s empire in Ios. She planned carefully as Kastor dashed Jokaste’s dreams.

“No love, not this time. I want Damia by Laure’s side. Her Veretian is all but fluent.”

All eyes were on Damia and she cleared her dark curls out of her eyes. She let Kastor wait just until his smile began to falter before she chose to answer.

“I’ll do it.” She said. “I’ll be Laure’s maid. But I have some conditions.”


	2. 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to write another chapter pretty quickly and now we get to Chastillion and to meet Laure. I am staying pretty close to the movie plot because it is so good on it's own but I will change some small details. I hope you like this chapter.

**2\. The Painting Does Her No Justice**

It had been a long while since Damia had had the luxury of riding in a private coach.

Still, the road to Chastillion was bumpy and boring at best. It rained steadily for the entire three hour ride from Arles to Chastillion and Damia had been laced into the best second-hand set of Veretian clothes they had been able to purchase on such short notice. Though Damia could appreciate the beauty of the fabric and the fine effect Veretian fashions had on women’s figures, the tight laces were less forgiving on her fuller figure.

Every breath strained at the laces and her back hurt after the first hour from sitting up so straight. She missed breezy Akielon clothes.

The only thing keeping her focused was the absolute confidence with which Makedon, Pallas, and Lazar sent her off, the embrace from Nikandra, the kiss on the cheek from Jokaste. Kastor has not been there to wish her well, as he was preparing for his own arrival a few weeks later.

At the worst part of the journey, the carriage wheel became stuck in brackish mud about a half an hour’s drive from the estate. The carriage driver Kastor had hired to drive her to the estate informed her that the closest town that might be available to help would be a forty five minute walk in the opposite direction. 

“What do you recommend I do?” Damia asked, trying her best not sound as annoyed as she felt. 

“You could sleep in the carriage.”

“But I need to be at the house today!” Damia exclaimed. These kind of stuffy people did not seem like the type to tolerate tardiness from their hired help. And she needed to make a good impression on Laure so that she could sway her to Kastor’s arms.

“Then it seems you’ll need to be walking, darling. I can drop off your effects first thing in the morning.”

Damia bit her lip so hard that she thought it might bleed.

But in the end, her comfort was pushed to the wayside. She loosened her laces, pulled on a thick wool cloak that Lazar had provided for her, and began to set off through the mud and the rain. 

It was almost an hour and a half walk and the sun was getting low in the sky by the time Damia stumbled onto the grounds of the estate where Laure lived. It was hard to miss.

The outer ivy-covered walls stretched around seemingly endless grounds and she had to all but tear the wrought-iron gates from the stone before the man at the entrance would let her in. She supposed it was to be expected. 

It was rare enough to see an Akielon woman--especially one of her height and curvature--in these remote outskirts of Chastillion, but she was also soaked through her cloak and was caked in mud almost to her knees. She would murder this man if it meant she would get to a fireplace and a dry set of clothes.

The grounds almost made up for the journey.

The chateau was large and lavish, pressed up against an equally stately forest, but the sweeping lawns around the buildings were beautifully manicured.

There were two ponds, one with a bridge to an island in the center of the water, a row of high hedges that might have been a maze, twisted old trees, and fine marble statues placed along the gravel path. 

Damia wished she wasn’t so exhausted so that she might better enjoy the scenery. 

Instead she was passed to a disapproving housekeeper who gave her a towel to clean off the water and mud before taking her on a swift tour of the main house. Damia could hardly focus from her exhaustion and the endless rooms blurred into a monotony of fine art and lavish decorations. 

She only snapped out of her haze when the housekeeper opened a pair of doors to reveal a tiny room with a thin bed, a linen nightgown placed on top, and a small chest of drawers. 

“These are your quarters. The Lady Laure’s rooms are just across the hall.”

Damia almost laughed. Her feet would surely dangle off this bed made for small-boned, dainty Veretian maids. “Will I be introduced to Laure this evening?”

“ _ Lady _ Laure,” Damia inwardly cursed herself for the slip, “is currently with her uncle, the master of this house, hosting guests in the outer building. If they do not return to the main house for dinner--served at seven P.M. sharp--this evening then you will meet her in the morning. She will explain her expectations for you as well as the rules of the house.” 

Damia nodded slowly. Even though it was too small for her, she longed to collapse on the bed.

“I will leave you to rest for the moment.”

“Thank you.” Damia said. She was hungry and wanted to see her mysterious mistress but the moment the door was shut behind her, she stripped down to skin and collapsed on the bed into a sleep borne of exhaustion. 

 

It had to be the middle of the night when Damia heard a piercing shriek that startled her awake and caused her to slam her shin painfully into the corner of her chest of drawers. The flame that had been lit atop it had long since burnt out. 

"Fu--!" She almost cursed loudly at the pain before remembering that a proper lady's maid would not curse like a sailor. 

Over the sound of her heartbeat racing in her ears, Damia heard a second scream dissolve into a sob coming from the general direction of Laure's room. 

Damia spilled out of the bed, nearly tearing the fabric of the nightdress in her haste to put it on. Of course it was too small. She was in the lady's room before the third scream split the serenity of the night.

The scene that greeted her in the elegant room was like something from a pulp novel.

Slim, white limbs thrashed from beneath the blankets in a frenzy and Damia could not even see Laure's face beneath the straw-colored tangle of her long hair. Her nightshirt slipped low on her chest and the flimsy fabric looked as though it might tear from the activity. She was calling out a name.

“ _ Augustine! Augustine! _ ”

Panicking, Damia rushed to the side of the bed and tried to figure out how best to calm her new employer.

"Lau--Lady Laure! My lady!" Damia wanted to curse again as her voice did not seem to break through the hysterics. She did not want to hurt the woman she had been tasked with caring for but she was almost trembling with adrenaline.

Damia took Laure by the shoulders and shook her gently, trying to wrench her from whatever nightmares were haunting her. She was surprisingly strong for being so slender.

Laure breathed in a shuddering gasp and Damia could see that, rather than being red from screaming, her face was bone white and her cheeks were wet.

“A-Augustine?”

She had no idea who the fuck Augustine was.

Damia brushed the wild golden hair from Laure’s wet eyes and pulled up the neck of her nightdress so that her breasts were not exposed to the chill of the night air. “No, no. I’m Damia.” Laure’s eyes were huge with hysteria and confusion. “Damia. Your new lady’s maid. I just started this evening.”

Laure’s eyes glazed over. “O...oh…”

“Should I--would you like water? Or wine?” Damia also knew of small pills that would calm such anxieties but she had no idea if that was the kind of thing a high-class maid should have knowledge of.

“No…” Laure slumped back in her pillows, looking as if she might waste away. “You...can go.”

Damia could not let it be. 

She could not help but think that Laure did not fit the picture of a stately and elegant Veretian lady well in command of her house and her mind. She looked a little pitiful in this state.

Rather than leaving, Damia moved to the vanity and felt around until she found the ornate handle of a hairbrush and a long satin length of ribbon. Laure did not resist as Damia began to brush out the tangles in her long hair and plaited it simply.

Laure closed her eyes as Damia brushed and, by the time the braid hung heavy over her shoulder, she was breathing in the easy, measured tempo of sleep. Damia tiptoed out of the room so as not to wake her new employer. 

She collapsed onto her bed with a groan and prayed to the gods that everything would be smoother after such a tumultuous night.

 

As Damia woke up the next morning, she was amazed to find that the lamps were already lit in Laure’s room and she cursed under her breath as she slid on her plain pair of house slippers. What kind of lazy maid woke after her mistress?

Though, in her defense, it had been a very long night.

She rapped her knuckles against the wood of the door and tried to make her voice soft and pleasant, “My lady? Might I come in?”

“Come in.”

The room was much less ominous in the light of sunrise and Laure herself was nothing like what she had been that night, frenzied and wild. She sat in the chair at her vanity, straight-backed and calm, in a tightly laced gown of dove gray satin. Her golden hair hung loose and curled softly around her ribcage. 

Damia wondered errantly how she had managed to lace it up herself before Laure fixed her with an appraising glance. 

She certainly was a stunning young woman.

A classic Veretian beauty with full lips and wide blue eyes, what little of her skin showing was white and smooth. She had perfect posture and Damia felt herself stand up taller in reaction to the intensity of that gaze, only realizing too late that a proper maid would have dropped her eyes in deference.

Laure averted her gaze first and the corners of her mouth tugged up in the thin approximation of a smile. “I see. You said that you were Damia, the maid Kastor recommended?”

“Yes, lady.”

“Understood. I will thank you not to mention last night’s...spectacle. You’ll find that I am perfectly capable of lacing up my clothing in the mornings but I would like you to come in and pin up my hair.” She looked in her mirror, the faint smile disappearing entirely. “And fetch me a pair of gloves from the armoire.”

“Yes, lady. Understood.”

Damia bit her bottom lip and went to fetch gloves...only to find hundreds of pairs in every color and fabric imaginable, arrayed in neat lines in the top two drawers of the armoire. They were such fine quality one pair would easily feed Damia’s household for a week. 

Laure had not specified which gloves she wanted so Damia chose a pair in simple white kidskin, soft as a dream. They were placed on the corner of the vanity.

Damia marveled at Laure’s fine hair and wondered why she would want it pinned back. But her new ‘mistress’ had been vague about how she liked her hair as well. 

With gentle hands she began to gather the golden waves and braid them gently, planning to pin it up in a simple style favored by Akielon and Veretian women. Jokaste often wore it to show off her long neck and Laure’s elegant profile would be shown to her advantage with such a style.

Her hair was softer than the gloves.


End file.
